The Heroin Diaries
by dragongirl5k5
Summary: Slash. The first time he shot up with Roy, Robin told himself never again. The second time it happened, he assured himself he was still in control. He could stop whenever he wanted. By the tenth, he didn't care. A story of struggle and addiction.
1. When You Were Young

**_The Heroin Diaries_**

**_Warnings: Sexuality, drug use, suggestive language, cursing, teenage rebellion and experimentation, yada, yada, yada... _**

**_Disclaimer: Oh, how I wish I owned Robin or the rest of the gang. Alas, I do not._**

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><p><strong><em>~Prologue~<em>**

I remember the first time I met him, staring out from behind Batman's cape, smiling shyly. He had stared back with a dubious face, as if trying to figure out what I was. Or maybe he had simply been surprised at a kid younger than him being here first. I can still recall with clarity the exact measure of skepticism and adoration the veteran heroes sustained when they found out a nine-year-old child had been brought into their world.

Nostalgia is a fickle sensation, creeping up and then wrapping around you like a vine. Mine is grasping me as we speak, always full of such lucidity. I can literally sense the warm sun beating down on my skin as I play keep- away with Speedy's hat, the bright orange of his hair sticking up in the wind as he chases me. I'm laughing, and although he tries to appear annoyed, I know he is smirking behind me, enjoying the game as much as myself.

The kid in that memory no longer exists. What has replaced him is an arrogant, angry young man bent on proving himself. To whom or what I don't know, but I can understand to some extent. I get the issues he has between him and Green Arrow.

It is a tough place to be, somewhere caught between mentor/student and father/son. A difficult and precarious balance that never makes sense in the long run. When we were young, it had been fine and even fun up 'till a point. But as we grow older, we crave guidance and acceptance—we want a parental relationship, not something messy and distorted. We want to be treated as equals but trusted as their children, too. I get that. I do.

Growing up is an aching, arduous process. Muscles expand. Voice get deep. Hair appears in the _oddest_ of places. Minds mature.

Sexuality develops.

For me, it's never been so much about male/female as it has been about attraction. I mean, I was in love with my babysitter, Barbara Gordon, for most of my childhood. Eventually though, I realized it was just a crush.

Am I gay? I don't think so. Bi? Maybe. I've had straight friends and gay friends and I don't see much of a difference. Love should be about love, right?

So, yeah, me and Roy sort of have a thing going. Kind of. Not really, but a little.

It's complicated.

God, dating sucks. And we're not even technically a couple yet. My whelming meter is off the chart when it comes to this subject.

I made a mental list of all the possible problems being involved with Roy could bring:

A) He's older. Age is only a number, but it does mean he has quite a few more years of _'experience'_ than me. I can feel the pressure already.

B) Batman would murder him. And send me to a convent. Period.

C) What if things didn't work out? What if we broke up and then couldn't even be friends anymore? Why go through with it if it ends up back-firing on us?

But, then I look at a list of reasons why it should be worth the risk.

A) Roy is good-looking, no one can deny that. Such a well-built, chiseled-featured, plain striking young man taking an interest in me whatsoever is a miracle by some sorts. I mean, I'm okay, but I'm also barely fourteen.

B) The way that serious expression lightens just a tad whenever we're alone. Or when I catch him completely off guard and he _honest-to-God_ smiles at me. He has a gorgeous grin.

C) The way he talks to me like I'm not just a kid or rival superhero, but an equal. Unlike a lot of others as of late, Roy treats me like I'm worth his time and respect.

D) We know each other's civilian identities. Roy was actually the one who initiated that. It just sort of slipped one day and he told me he didn't care, that he _trusted_ me, _wanted_ me to know. After that I could not help but feel the need to reciprocate, so I told him mine, compromise be damned.

So far the pros outweight the cons, but there is still time to tip the scale. Secretly, I'm hoping it stays like this so there will be no amount of logic to disprove our chances. I want a relationship with Roy, I really do.

I haven't seen him for while. I know he won't admit it, but I think Green Arrow taking Artemis under his wing has got to hurt more than he lets on. Roy may have given up his position as a protege that day at the Hall of Justice, but Ollie still raised him. If I had been in the same spot, I know I'd feel burned with betrayal.

Still, I hope he'll show up one day out of the blue like usual, crawling through my window or waiting for me outside Gotham Academy. Soon, too. I have this uneasy premonition, this calm before the storm swelling inside. I don't know what it means or what the universe has in store for me.

As my _bunica_ always said, _'In due time, all reveals itself. What will come may come heaving luggage. So be prepared.'_

I never could construe whether she was talking about love or airport travel.

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><p><em><strong>Bunica means 'grandma' in Romanian. At least Google Translate says so. If I'm wrong, don't shoot! Unfortunately, my school does not offer Romanian classes. <strong>_

_**Now, a few matters to point out, in case anyone wants to know:**_

_**Why Roy/Dick?: Well, I've always liked that couple from other versions, plus it just seems a bit depleted so far in this fandom. Also, it works out great for the plot, so yeah.**_

_**Will there be anything explicit in this story?: I guess it depends on what you define as explicit? I mean, there will be some graphic things going on, and Dick will be painting a rather realistic picture of it, but let's say a sex scene? As of now, I'm not entirely sure. I will put warnings in the beginning though for individual chapters. I rated M just to be safe.**_

_**Is this story based on personal experience?: No. I myself have never done drugs. I have known people who have done drugs however for a variety of reasons, but never personally experienced it. Which is why I may not be completely accurate on everything.**_

_**Hope that clears some stuff up for anyone who was wondering. Flames are most unwelcome, while criticism is condoned. Any suggestions or questions are fine. Oh, one more thing:**_

_**REVIEW! (:**_


	2. Say When

**_The Heroin Diaries_**

**_Warnings: For this chapter, sexual situations, drug use implications, language, and a sprinkle of violence courtesy of Superboy._**

**_Disclaimer: I wished and wished upon a star. I guess it was an airplane:(_**

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><p><strong><em>~Chapter 1~<em>**

Two days later, I do meet up with Roy again. Just not how I wanted.

I am the only occupant of our Happy Harbor abode, aside from Miss Martian and Superboy. I decided to take a quick nap while they ate dinner, my appetite fleeting. I awake to a shifting pressure on top of me and open bleary eyes to find green ones staring back.

"Roy?" I groan, buried beneath a veil of sleep. My response is groggy and unguarded. "What're you doin' here?"

There is no reply. He is so close, our noses but a hair's breath away, and even through the lens of my mask I can spot something off. I want to ask him what is wrong, but am left with no air to do so, because he steals it with the lip-locking pressure of his own chapped lips.

This is the first time we've kissed and it tastes _so good._ Through the smoky fog of slumber, I find my tongue twitching in anticipation before his own breaches the walls of my mouth, inviting itself in and sweeping out the interior with brisk strokes of urgency. Like if he does not get enough of me now, there'd never be any left.

Eventually, we disentangle, and while I'm still gasping for my stolen breath he is trailing a wet barrage of saliva-slick kisses down my jaw. At the same time, my clarity comes rushing back like a splash of cold water, forcing me to look at this situation with fresh, contradicting eyes.

This is all way too sudden. No way in hell a coincidence.

"Roy, what are you—?" I meant something along the lines of, _What brought this on all of a sudden? _but what's left of the broken inquiry comes out a garbled mess when he bites down on my neck and nibbles the skin in a way I can't ignore or resist. Jesus, I am such a virgin.

Well, I can't say I'm not enjoying the treatment, for now. Nonetheless, as I said before, I'm not ready to take things any further. Kissing, making out even; sure, I can handle that. But groping below the belt, a bear hand caressing the backside of my thigh for example?

Yeah, that was a _major_ wake up call. My eyes shoot open as soon as the touch registers and already my comfort zone is crumbling apart.

"Roy—no!" I protest, attempting to yank his hand away.

"Come on, Robin," he says, languidly sliding his lips down my cheek as he speaks, voice silky and borderline begging. "Relax. I won't hurt you."

_I know,_ I sullenly note, somewhere in the back of my mind. _I know you won't, but why are you doing this?_

I try to wrap my hand around his forearm and gain enough leverage to push him off, but he hisses as soon as my fingers brush bear skin and clamps down on me harder. I nearly yelp at the unexpected violence and immediately my mind wanders down a darker road.

For once, I wish I wasn't such an astute detective. I damn my analytical mind for all it was worth. I look up at him, _really_ look at him since this whole affair started, and I see a glassy texture to his eyes that screamed wrong-ness. I see disorientation, lust, and something else I simply could not identify with.

"Are—are you high?" I choke, but it melts into a moan as his mouth does something _amazing_ at the nape of my neck. Still, the panic is steadily growing even through the pleasure of his assault.

Has Roy been shooting up? Is he on something right now? Oh God—am I the only one who knows? Oh God, Oh God—

My line of frantic thought is abruptly cut short when I feel a pressure tug against the band of my pants. In my distraction, Roy's sly hand had begun a slow, tantalizing trail down my taut abdomen to the prize below...

But no. Not like this. Not with Roy all messed up like he is. I wasn't ready. I didn't even know where to begin with how wrong this entire thing was.

"No!" I object, squirming uselessly beneath him. Generally, I'd be able to escape him, but rest has left my muscles lax and size gives him the upper hand here. "Roy, stop, you need to—"

"I need _you,"_ he growls, deep and sensual against my ear, and despite the seriousness of the situation I feel my insides melt into gooey strips. As touching as that statement is, I can't tell if it's Roy talking or the drugs and it bothers me immensely.

"Roy," I bark, training my voice, hiding the fear and using the Bat intimidation instilled in me for such occasions, "Stop. You're not thinking straight, you don't know what you're doing, _please."_

That was my mistake. The please. The essence of a plead, the signal that I was not in control, giving him the impression of the dominance. My words go unheeded and his deft fingers play with the fringe of my pants, toying with the fabric, watching me with such intense, glowing eyes. He delves past the waistband, then pauses.

"Roy," I gasp, then he's hitting home, my eyes are shut tight and I'm tensing so hard I think I may explode, _"No!"_

By some act of mercy, he doesn't get any farther. Our session is intercepted with a blur of black and red charging through my closed door, nearly knocking it off its hinges. It clamors into the adjacent wall, pulling me back into the present, alerting me to the arrival of the reinforcement. Or, more specifically, a pissed off Superboy.

Roy does not even have time to sputter before he is being hauled off of me, wandering hands and all. A cold gust of airs hits me as his weight is withdrawn, and I begin to cough, forgetting I had been holding my breath.

Miss Martian immediately rushes to my side, kneeling down and asking if I'm okay. I nod my head, cheeks flushed with both fluster and relief. My teammates have wonderful timing, but what an embarrassing position to need saving from. I wonder if they even know what was going on, or have an inkling of suspicion towards it.

I hear a grunt, whipping around to see Superboy holding Red Arrow tight by the scruff of his neck. I'm almost afraid he'll hurt him, until I see Roy's face is not scrunched up in pain but chagrin.

"What were you doing?" Superboy grits out, eyes sparking with unbridled rage. "Attacking an ally? A friend? What the hell did you think you were doing?"

Roy does not answer, only makes an incoherrent sounds in the back of his throat. Somehow, I don't think Conner expected anything better. His brash captive tears his focus away from the cloned titan and glances over to me.

Our gazes meet and for a split second I see the haze subside and find the real Roy gazing meaningfully back at me, like our first meeting so long ago. Then he retreats, back into whatever abyss he has taken refuge in, and Red Arrow is making a hasty escape while Superboy's grip is lenient.

Out the window dove my assailant, while opening the door to a myriad of worries swarming around my head.

I try to calm my erratic heartbeat with massive gulps of air while Megan soothingly lays a hand on my arm. I wonder if she is reading my distress right now, can she literally _sense_ the turmoil blazing through my system?

"Are you okay?" demands Superboy, roving his eyes over me hastily. "Did he hurt you?"

Minus a few hickeys that may now be bruising the base of my neck, I was good. Physically. Emotionally? ...I'd have to get back to them on that one.

But for now, I could say, "Y-yeah. I'm fine." Damn my stutter. "Really. He didn't hurt me."

Superboy grunts, appearing not-so-pleased, so I figure while I may have assured him that I'm alright, Red Arrow has probably made his growing list of 'People-I-Want-To-Incinerate.'

It is pretty ironic. First time I met the cloned teenager, his only thought had been destroying us. Now, his first instinct was to protect us from the fire, even friendly fire.

"It was, er, personal, I guess," I mutter lamely, which was at least partially true. "Nothing for you guys to worry about. I'll talk to Ro—Red Arrow about it when I get the chance. Don't worry. It's nothing I can't handle."

_Liar, liar, spandex on fire._

Superboy snorts and glares at the drafty window, while Megan is apprehending me with sympathetic eyes.

"You want us to keep this between us?" It is not a question, but a statement, and for once, _God bless_ her telepathic powers.

"Yeah, that'd be great," I affirm, letting the gratitude slip through my tone like syrup. I really am thankful.

She nods knowingly. Grudgingly, Conner agrees as well and uncrosses his arms in a form of relent. My stiff body releases its tension, while all of a sudden I feel so awake, unable to rest again if I tried.

Luckily, Miss M has a solution for that too. "Well, before this, uh, _intrusion,_ I was going to pick out a movie. I'm afraid I'm not very familiar with the best choices though. Would you like to come watch with us?"

I genuinely smile at her. "Sure. Sounds fun."

We gather around the couch, just the three of us; laugh, joke, and try not to burst into hysterics at the face Superboy makes when we come to the scene with Sam and Carly groping in the bathroom. Like normal teenagers.

But we're just fooling ourselves. Those two are aliens, and I'm an orphan now dealing with a possibly addicted love interest. There is nothing ordinary about that. Even through the fun, my mind keeps replaying the events which took place tonight, doubting the future or where it was headed.

I don't know where to go from here. All I know is whatever path I chose, it will have to lead to Roy. And wherever Roy is right now, I imagine is must be dark.

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><p><strong><em>I've had a horrible day. Like SUPER horrible. I am so depressed I'm not sure I could've updated, but luckily I had this chapter done the night before. Don't you just love it when I'm actually prepared?<em>**

**_The funny part is, I actually wished at 11:11 last night to have a good day at school today. This is where hope gets me!_**

**_Well, on another note, how was it? Good? Bad? I crave your opinions! _**

**_So leave 'em down below(;_**

**_P.S. Reviews would lighten my mood so, so much. Think of it as your daily dose of good-will._**


	3. Vulnerable

**_Hello, my new followers! I come bearing an update! First off, in response to the people who commented:_**

**_plainf: Thank you! And look, you didn't have to wait that long!(:_**

**_Kaye: Really? I'm so glad! I was afraid I'd be so off and situation wouldn't seem realistic at all! Thanks!_**

**_PorcelainQueenXD: Thank you! Yes, there really deserves to be more long Roy/Dick fics!_**

**_Madame: I know it's a bit short now, but that'll probably change as it goes on. Dark and confusing was kinda what I was going for, so I guess I'm doing my job! Also, thanks, I did have a better day!_**

**_music-is-luv: Yes, he did sort of mess that up bad, huh? But thank you, I'm glad I have you hooked! I shall try and update quickly as much as possible, since you seem to be a faithful reviewer so far! _**

**_For those of you who wanted a response or a question answered, why didn't you leave a review? Well, what are you waiting for! Do so now!(;_**

**_Warning: Bad words & teenage angst. Meh, you'll live. _**

**_Disclaimer: Don't own. Thanks for reminding me. _**

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><p><strong><em>~Chapter 2~<em>**

The worst I have to waste on finding Roy again is gas. Which is no big deal, really, when that tab is easily rectified by the lucrative allowance implied when you have a billionaire guardian. Nor is making a spur-of-the-moment trip to Star City a real issue either, not when I leave a message for Alfred to give to Bruce anyway

The true problem—the ugly, unwanted turmoil—is all inner and raging on inside my head rather than hindering my physical mission. Which was to find Roy before he did something stupid that he will regret—er, again.

I add a D) _Roy might be shooting up!_ to my list of cons and suddenly the scale doesn't seem so promising anymore. My picture-perfect plan is falling apart, yet all I can do is keep flashing back to _that_ night or recalling the young ginger I had grown up with, his feathered-cap relinquished by my crafty arms. Remembering sends an odd chill through my core though, so I push the past away until only the present and future remain.

There is a coldness in my chest that only secrets can warm. It took several hours of brooding consideration, but I need the truth, no matter how badly I crave otherwise. I need to hear it from Roy's own lips. Because Roy trusts me. That trust deserves to be returned.

I park my beloved cycle in the empty lot of some bank and scan the premises from beneath the tint of my helment. It was silent, but not overly so; nope, there was the normal abundance of city noise, cars screeching, dogs barking, etc, etc...

Deciding the peripheral perimeter secure, I abandon my helmet along with my vehicle and leap into the night, with only the wandering shadows as my seatbelt. They are all the protection I need.

In the process of scouring for my intended target, I catch two would-be muggers and accidentally subdue an armed attacker. (_I don't care if you believe me or not, I'm serious!_) I leave them tied up, confiscate the knife-wielder's weapon, dispose of it, then back to my original task. Just a regular night for us crime fighters.

Dealing with not only the drama of being an adolescent, but also taking sharp objects away from wrongdoers and tying them up for the police to find. Yeah, just a regular afterschool special.

Regardless of my inward ridicule, compensating for the fact that if I start to wander towards more unsavory subjects that I may leave myself open for an ambush, I'm actually quite unnerved. I know I will find him soon, but soon never seems quite soon enough.

It's an old trick I picked up from Batman when he's angry; follow the bodies. Or really, follow the trail of piteously moaning criminals with their heads cracked into the gutter.

I find the masked vigilante with his legs swung over the edge of some tall insurance building, gazing out at the flickering skyline. I creep up quietly, but like myself, he is experienced in the code of stealth and undoubtedly hears my approach. I'm not hiding, after all. Nonetheless, he still does not turn to greet me.

"Red Arrow," I address without stutter. Victory number one. When I receive no response, I call again, more firm and personal this time, _"Roy."_

He still refuses to face me. Well, fine, I can play hard to get too. My inner interrogator gets pumped up to work his diabolical magic, but what really comes out is,

"About what happened...that night...we—you—I mean—" I am just full of wit tonight. I breath in deep, attempting to calm my nervous pulse, releasing it slow. My hands tremble for a simple second. "Were you...high?"

No reply is uttered, however, just when I am about to ask again, he pulls something out of his pocket and lets it fall listlessly onto the rooftop.

I cringe as I watch the object descend, the cruel clatter of the syringe grating like razors against my ears. I gulp at the dissolution in which he provides me my visual. He looks so defeated, so apathetic.

"Is that the answer you wanted?" he queries, in a gravelly voice.

"Yes," I admit, sighing informally, "but not the one I was hoping for."

His lips quirk up sardonically. "Sorry to disappoint you." Softly then, barely audibly he adds, "Though I seem to be doing that more often as of late."

"Hey, don't be like that," I soothe, urging him to face me. "I'm not mad. Really. This is proof. You weren't yourself. You would have never done that had you been clean."

"I wouldn't," he agrees, whipping around to look me in the eyes, maskless and full of remorse. The earlier haze in that predatory front is all but nonexistent now. "I would never hurt you, Dick."

Both the intensity in which he states that and the way he says my name leaves me breathless.

"I know," I assure him, truthfully, and without hesitation. It calms the emerald storm behind those glassy eyes somewhat. "How did this even happen?"

Roy peers back off to side, unwilling to face me as he explains,

"Three months ago, I was patrolling one night and caught wind of a dealer a few streets west from my position. I followed the trail and found him trying to sell to some teenage girl in fishnets. I scared her away and cuffed the guy. He screeched the whole way to the police station, babbling incoherently, trying to hook me up fat in return for freedom. I scoffed and let them throw his sorry ass into a cell. There's no reasoning with guys like that..."

"...but you didn't go away empty handed," I finish knowingly.

He at least has the decency to look ashamed of himself. "No. I was going to turn it in, just like protocol discloses. But then everything just started...weighing down, you know?"

There is something casual about the way he says that, some obligatory note that sends my analytical gears swirling. "This isn't the first time you've used, is it?"

He shakes his head, somber and tight-lipped. "I was sixteen. At first, it was just a little pot. I got involved with a certain group of people and I just needed _something_...something to keep my mind off things. I tried the needle once, got hooked for a while. I kicked it pretty quick, got help and got sober. I was real sick for a while. Didn't like it, being so weak and dependent."

"You stop hanging out with those 'people'?" I press, trying to figure out how I couldn't have known of his previous habit beforehand. Now that I look back, I hadn't seen much of Roy that year, between school and patrols with Batman. Not only that, but I had been just a naive eleven-year-old at the time.

Roy snorts, "No way. Not like they were really my friends per se, just people I bummed off to get high."

I digest this with scarce satisfaction. Secrets between us have been exposed, yet a question still aches inside of me, begging to be answered, and I can't help but reckon he has been expecting this one all along. "Why?"

A scowl frames his face, glowering darkly, "You know, that's a really _good_ question. Wish I had a plausible answer for ya', Boy Wonder." His bitter snark is not lost on me.

"Hey," I demur, laying a gentle hand upon his shoulder. His body language is poised for danger, screaming _stay away,_ but I have no fear. Four years raised by the Bat has left me immune. I can handle myself, and I think this is partially why he is so comfortable around me. He knows I have what it takes to fight him off if I tried.

So, he must be wondering, _Why hasn't he driven me off yet?_

_Good question. _Great, now I'm spewing snark.

Roy's lips curl in a bitter mockery of a smile. "Nothing I say is gonna satisfy you, so why bother?"

"Try me," I usher. His grimace enhances.

"I don't even have an answer for myself, for every time I've asked that same question," he responds, his tone hinting towards despondency, "What do I say? That it hurts? That sometimes simply getting up in the morning is a freakin' burden and dealing with all the crap going on with Ollie, being out in the world, seeing all the shit we do, all the evil and bad...It's just so _easy."_

"Easy for what?" I ask, almost afraid of the reply I would receive. Roy flinches imperceptibly.

"To get lost in it all," he all but whispers, hanging his head low. "Especially when you're fighting it alone."

"You're not alone!" I interject, my tongue quicker than my mind. But my heart shushes the logic for a fruitful moment, and yes, I realize, it is the truth. And I will drill it into his cerebrum if I have to.

Roy snorts, unconvinced. My fingers tighten into fists, before I reach out and clasp one of his unguarded hands in mine.

"You're not alone," I repeat, desperate to infringe it into his memory for the rest of his lonely days, because I know. I know all too well the pain of thinking you're all alone, and I would never wish that on him.

No one deserves that kind of suffering.

"You have me," I allege, and bring his hand to my lips, placing a gentle kiss on his palm. He watches the movement with wide, amazed eyes, so while I have him so enthralled, I go forth and take the plunge, "If you want me, that is."

I shouldn't be offering up my soul on a silver platter, but I want to help him so much it hurts. I want this. I want this thing, whatever it is, to work out between us.

If that means my better judgment may be compromised, well, it is a sacrifice I will have to make.

_"Yes,"_ Roy affirms tenderly, and that single word is like a crow's talon snaking into my chest and engulfing my heart with care, the sensation fluttering through me like an arrhythmia, "Of course I do."

Miraculously, I smile. I am happy, despite the pinch of forebode shuffling in the pit of my stomach.

I try to convince myself I can fix him. Nothing is impossible for the Boy Wonder. I'm the League's Golden Boy.

Yet no matter how far my luck or reputation proceeds me, I was human like everyone else. More vulnerable than I cared to realize.

At least I wasn't the only one.

Maybe that was another pro to add to the list. E) _With Roy, I never felt alone._ I always belonged somewhere in the middle of his muddled mess of a world.

It might not appear as much, but it really did matter.

It mattered a lot.

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><p>I wish he hadn't found me. If I'm truly being earnest, I made it too easy. I should have run to the fucking ends of the earth to avoid meeting again. I don't deserve to see his face.<p>

I especially don't deserve his forgiveness.

I nearly _raped_ him for God's sake. Not that I meant to—_the drugs conducting my movements, feeding my disease, the retched desire to just take, take, take_— Christ, Dick was the last person I ever wanted to hurt! I swear on my father's grave.

Robin always seemed too good for hate, even when we were kids. Dislike, sure. Irritation? He was Batman Jr. and friends with Wally, it was _bound_ to happen. But to go to the point of actually loathing someone?

Nope. Even while I as Speedy built up a steady disgust for the criminal society surrounding me, Robin met it all in stride and took every bad thing he was up against without malice. He wasn't immune, but he wasn't damaged.

Or, perhaps, he had seen so much already, that the world could throw nothing worse his way.

I never really considered that one. Dick was on pedestal in my mind. While he was younger and maybe idolized myself to a point, it was clear to me that he was better than us all, underestimated for his age. Obviously, people weren't looking at him close enough.

Because when I stared into those blue orbs, I saw a window wiser to the world than any other.

I'm not a cradle-robber or any other term you might want to fling at me. Age never mattered when we were growing up together or hanging out when our mentors teamed up for a mission. Robin can be immature at times, but that is only the root of his naivete (another endearing quality) peeking out around the edges.

So yes, I am attracted to him. Then again, maybe that is putting it lightly.

I want him so bad it hurts, but I don't want to cause him pain. I couldn't live with myself to ruin something so pure and hopeful. Dick is like the light to my darkened days.

He's loyal. Trusting. Always there. Curious. Bubbly. Full of laughter. I don't want to take any of that away. He's perfect. Everything I need and all the remedies my heart so desperately craves.

I should say no—it is the right thing to do. Without a doubt. He isn't dumb and I suspect he knows better than I.

_So, why isn't he saying no?_

It is this nagging thought, this fleeting detail of hope that blinds me to all the bad willing to happen. If he is willing to give me a chance, even seeing me like this, then damn it, how I can I give that up? I may never have another option like this. He has seen me at my worst, but he hasn't seen me hit rock bottom yet.

I pray to whatever God left that he never has to.

_"Yes."_ The single words escapes my mouth like the breath of the flame, the light sensation of his lips pecking my palm upgrading to a dull burn, invigorating my deepest confession, "Of course I do."

_I'm not forcing him this time. It is mutual. I'm not just some pining cradle-robber. He likes me, too. _

It is so childish—and by God do I berate myself for it—but the revelation is so whole-hearted and uplifting. Ten times better than finding out your playground crush liked you back.

Then he smiles at me, the grace of that grin like a million reprieves on my soul. And no matter how this is destined to end, I feel inexplicable cheer bubble up inside. Even I manage to smile back.

I cannot promise him reform or change. I will not raise his expectations and swear I'm the man he deserves. However, I will try to be that person, even if it kills me. I want this to work and I have a gut-wrenching thrill that says he does too.

I was always a very upfront person. I will not delude myself and claim I'm not craving the needle right now. Nevertheless, I can say with utter honesty that I desire Robin even more.

And if that is not a sign of good faith, ship me off to Hell this instant and throw away the key.

I try to convince myself I'm what's best for him. I'm Red Arrow, a great hero in the making, after all. Even Batman could approve of that to some degree, right? ...maybe not.

Either way, with this recent relapse, it seems likely I'm headed for a fall.

But this time, I may just have someone to catch me when I do.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Hm. Roy's pov was interesting, yet challenging, since this fic is almost all Dick's point of view. Hope I nailed it right. <em>**

**_So one person has asked so far, and I didn't really elaborate well, but Robin/Dick is fourteen in this fic, headed towards fifteen._**

**_Oh, and if no one has noticed by now, each chapter title has a theme? Anyone know what it is?^^_**

**_See that button down there? You know what it wants. You know what it needs. So don't disappoint!_**


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